


Got Poncho? (Daryl Dixon)

by tender_is_the_ghost



Category: Norman Reedus - Fandom, Walking Dead (TV), daryl dixon - Fandom
Genre: Car Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Smut, New Relationship, Oral Sex, Outdoor Sex, POV Second Person, Sex, Swimming, naked, poncho sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-06
Updated: 2014-04-06
Packaged: 2018-01-18 08:02:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1420708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tender_is_the_ghost/pseuds/tender_is_the_ghost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set between seasons 3 and 4 when things are coming together nicely for the group and Daryl is a little more relaxed and, dare I say, fun before everything turns to shit once more. :)</p><p>Just a piece of fluff to combat all the dark feels from the end of the season.</p><p>Written for my good friend Breezy who was craving poncho sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Got Poncho? (Daryl Dixon)

 

The warm water caresses your skin, washing away your aches and your cares if only for a brief moment in time. You roll onto your back in its buoyancy, eyes closed, feeling the afternoon skin caressing your face and you sigh with contentment.

“Hey, you gonna wallow in there all day, Princess?”

You ignore the voice, hoping if you’re non-responsive he’ll shut up and leave you alone. No such luck, you think as a series of small pebbles splash into the water around you in rapid succession. You crack open your eyes just a fraction, squinting up against the sun to where Daryl is sitting, grinning, on the rocks above you. His hair is still dripping from the swim he took before you and he’s sitting, legs stretched out in front of him, naked to the waist with the top of his jeans unbuttoned, leaning back on his arms as he basks in the sun like a satisfied cat. His ever-present crossbow rests at his side always ready for action and a half-dozen dead squirrels are tied to a low tree branch behind him.

“Time to go,” he warns, shading his eyes to look down at you.

“Five more minutes,” you reply and he grunts as you flick water at him before taking off across the pool’s surface.

You’re not ready to leave the water’s warm embrace quite yet plus you’re sure that he spent far longer in the water than he’s given you. Mind you, he needed it more than you, you think, wrinkling your nose at the thought of having to re-dress in your gore-spattered clothes. A simple hunting trip had turned into a wrestling match with two of the squishiest walkers you’d seen to date and Daryl deciding to off one with a boulder to the head had left both of you reeking with the stink of rotting flesh. But would he let you go back to the pickup and drive home? No. Instead he told you to ‘man up’ and forced you to wander aimlessly around the woods for the next two hours, probably scaring any potential game away with the foul odor coming off you until you had stumbled onto this little oasis by accident.

A natural rock pool about thirty feet wide, its clear water fed from above by small spring was just too good of an opportunity for even Daryl to pass up on. Hot and sticky from the summer heat, and smelling like a week-old carcass there was nothing more you wanted than to strip off and jump into that inviting, gently rippling water. As much as you wanted it though, you’d insisted that Daryl go first, just in case there were leeches lurking under the surface, an experience you never wanted to repeat. He’d grumbled and moaned from behind you while he undressed, complaining about what a pussy you were but he still went ahead and slid in first to ease your mind. You kept a watchful eye while he dipped and rolled in the pool but the area seemed free of any danger, the local wildlife present but keeping out of your immediate vicinity. The trees surrounding the pool were thick and overgrown, making the way you came the only real entrance to the clearing and you had actually relaxed a little for the first time in ages.

Another pebble, larger this time, splashes down in front of you causing you to stutter to a halt in mid-stroke. You spin in the water, seeing Daryl standing on the edge of the rock shelf above the pool, a look on his face that told you your time was definitely up. As you swim back towards him you notice he’s pulled his boots back on but he’s still shirtless and you try not to admire the lines of his torso as you get closer. Its Daryl after all, you think, as you reach the overhanging ledge he’s standing on, there’s about as much chance of forming a romantic relationship with him as there is of Rick shaving his beard but there’s no harm in admiring the view, you think, as you look expectantly up at him. There’s no way you can climb back out by yourself and he knows it. The fact that you’re buck naked doesn’t faze you in the slightest, it’s not the first time he’s seen you like this and you’re sure it won’t be the last. You’ve all spent long enough together, living in each other’s pockets out on the road and inside the prison that such niceties as privacy and personal space were lost a long time ago.

He sighs audibly and then steps forward to reach down and grab your hand to haul you up. As he sets his feet to get a better grip on you, his foot slides out a little, connecting with the stinking heap that is your clothes and before either of you can stop them, they’re sliding off the edge of the rocks and into the water beside you. Daryl lets go of your hand in a futile attempt to grab at them and you plunge back into the pool with a huge splash. You surface, spluttering for air and pushing your hair back out of your eyes as you watch your clothes slowly sinking beside you. Throwing Daryl a disgusted glance, to which he just shrugs, barely hiding the smirk on his face, you take a deep breath and dive under the surface in pursuit of your escaping clothing. You quickly snag them before they land in the mud at the bottom of the pool and you rise back to the surface, throwing first your jeans and then your shirt furiously up at Daryl, trying to soak him as much as possible in the process.

Unfortunately you’d tucked your bra and panties into the pockets of your jeans when you’d undressed which meant that the only dry clothing you have left is the pair of socks stored snugly inside your boots. You should be grateful he hadn’t kicked those in too, you tell yourself as he reaches down once more to take your hand and pull you carefully up onto the rocks. He averts his eyes as soon as you’re on safe ground but you know he must have gotten a good look at you as he helped you up. You feel your skin flush a little at the thought as you contemplate your dripping heap of clothes, squeezing the water from your hair as you search your brain for something else to wear. And then you spot it, the corner sticking out from Daryl’s pack laying discarded on the ground and you remember that he never goes anywhere without the damn thing, even on the hottest of days.

“Give me the poncho,” you tell him and he whips round to face you.

This time your hands fly instinctively to cover yourself, one at your privates and one crossing over your breasts, neither of which is an adequate cover up but he’s actually not looking at your body, his eyes meeting yours with a deep scowl on his face.

“’S’mine,” he growls and you roll your eyes.

“I know it’s yours, Daryl. I don’t want to keep it, just borrow it until we get back to the prison. I can’t go traipsing through the woods like this now, can I?”

You throw open your arms and this time he does take a long, hard look at your body before quickly spinning away again to grab his pack from the ground but not before you’ve seen the blush evident on his cheeks. He fumbles getting the pack open and yanks out the poncho, thrusting it back behind him in your general direction with a grunted, “Here, take it.”

You take it from his outstretched hand and slip it over your head, marveling at how he always manages to keep it relatively clean compared to all his other crap. Although it hangs low on your shoulders, naturally, Daryl’s way broader than you and he custom made the thing to fit himself, the bottom edge barely skims the top of your thighs, leaving you still feeling exposed but at least you’re not completely naked. The slightly rough material envelops you in its warmth and you notice that it even smells pretty good making you wonder if Daryl has found some secret Laundromat that he’s not telling anyone else about. You push your hand up underneath, lifting it to your nose to inhale deeply, the slightly musky aroma making your mouth moisten a little as you realize that this is his scent, this is how his skin would smell if you got that close to him.

You raise your eyes, suddenly aware of being watched and find Daryl staring at you, one eyebrow raised, an unreadable expression on his face. Self-consciously, you start coughing loudly into the neck of his poncho before dropping it back down and turning your head away, feeling the crimson heat of embarrassment flooding your face. You bend to pull on your boots, keeping him in front of you at all times, taking your time futzing with your laces until you feel your color subside a little. By the time you take another look in his direction, he’s pulled his shirt and leather vest back on and re-buttoned his pants. His pack is firmly on his back and his crossbow is slung over one shoulder, the squirrels dangling from his other. He’s holding your pack in his hand which he passes wordlessly to you and you take it, avoiding making eye contact with him. After stuffing your wet clothes through the straps, you slip it on, feeling it pull up the already too short poncho even more in the back.

“C’mon,” orders Daryl, indicating with his head for you to lead the way.

You stand fast, there’s no way you want him following you through the woods, watching your bare ass swinging in the breeze all the way back to the truck.

“Watchya waitin’ fer?” he asks, impatiently.

“You take point, I’ll follow.”

“Nope.”

You sigh inwardly, wondering if it’s worth arguing or just swallowing your humiliation and getting on with it. This is Daryl’s one stipulation about you coming to the woods with him, you always take point so he can keep an eye on you, see any danger that might be headed your way. You’ve argued with him about it since practically the day you met, a constant back and forth of you calmly pointing out the flawed logic in his plan to you screaming at him for being a sexist, asshole redneck but nothing has ever swayed his standpoint on this rule. He’s staring at you with one of his patented Daryl scowls, a small nerve twitching along the underside of his jaw and you take a deep breath and then stomp past him, holding down the edges of his poncho as far as you can behind you. That only works for so long before you have to use your arms to push aside low-hanging branches that are blocking the trail. After a while you give up feeling embarrassed, if he wants to look then let him, all you want to do is get back to safety and stop hiking through the damn woods!

You walk for about an hour, your mind half-focused on your surroundings as always and half-lost in a daydream where you’d pulled Daryl into the water with you when he’d reached down to haul you out, your play-fighting evolving into something else altogether as you bob together in the warm water. You shake your head suddenly, dispelling the images that are sending a familiar warmth to your groin, wondering what the hell is wrong with you today. You blame the heat and the unexpected freedom of being able to take a swim plus, of course, you blame Daryl for flaunting his damn body in front of you all afternoon. You swallow thickly as you think of the way the water had glistened off of his tanned skin as he’d heaved himself out of the pool, not knowing you were sneaking a look as you shaded your eyes with your hand, pretending to stare off into the other direction.

Out of your daydream, you can hear him following behind you and you realize that he’s muttering away under his breath, low enough that you can’t make out any words but it’s obvious that he’s having some kind of inner dialogue with himself and you suppress a giggle, positive that he’s not even aware that he’s doing it. You push on through the woods, curious as to what’s got him so wound up but not daring to look back at him, even for a second. Finally the trees start to thin out ahead of you and you exit out onto the dirt track where you parked the truck, racing the last few paces to reach up and toss your weighty pack into the flatbed before you remember your predicament and spin round to find Daryl unashamedly staring at your lower half. You are so done with this shit, you think, cocking out your hip to place your hand on it, giving him a hard glare until he moves up next to you to throw his pack after yours, along with the brace of squirrels.

You turn to open the passenger door, only getting it half way before Daryl’s hand reaches past you and slams it shut making you jump and turn only to find him inches away, his body completely invading your personal space.

“So,” he asks in his gruffest voice, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes to look down at you, “we doin’ this?”

Your mind is scrambled for a moment from the nearness of him so that you have no idea what he’s talking about until he presses closer against you and you can feel the hardness of him brush against your naked thigh, sending a thrill to every part of you. He raises that damn eyebrow at you again, his body starting to pull back as if he realizes he might be making a mistake but you have no intention of letting him change his mind so you grab two fistfuls of the front of his shirt and pull him forcefully into your body. His momentum slams your back into the side of the truck and you grunt under the impact as his body covers yours and his mouth finds its way to yours, his lips dry and rough as they bear down on yours. Something akin to a whine exits his throat, although he’ll later deny it, as you part your lips wider and force his apart with your tongue, sliding it into the slick heat of his mouth to glide it over his, the taste and scent of him filling your senses.

His hands are clutching your upper arms in a vice-like grip as he kisses you vigorously until you have to break apart or pass out from lack of oxygen. His face is flushed above yours, his eyes showing just a sliver of blue around the rims of his lust-blown pupils, both of your bodies panting a little from the exertion of your kissing. Reaching past you, he pulls open the door of the truck then grabs you and practically throws you inside to land on the worn leather seat. You wriggle backwards, Daryl eyeing your exposed bottom half, his tongue darting across his lips, until your head knocks against the inside of the other door. The truck may be old and have seen better days but at least it has a spacious interior, you think to yourself as he climbs in after you, pulling the door closed behind him. Although it’s been parked in the shade all day with the windows cracked, the interior is still baking and you feel a light sweat break out across your skin, you bare ass sticking to the cracked leather under your cheeks.

You draw your knees up to give Daryl more room to maneuver as he pulls at his leather vest and shirt, discarding them in a matter of seconds and managing to somehow crack his head on the ceiling in the process. He curses hard, rubbing at the top of his skull and you give a low chuckle.

“Oh, so ya think that’s funny, do ya?” he asks and you give a little squeal as his hands grab at the backs of your knees, pulling your legs around him then sliding his fingers quickly up under the edges of the poncho to tickle at your ribs. You squirm under his touch, breathless laughter turning to a gasp of pleasure as his callused hands find their way to your breasts and give a rough squeeze. You suck your lip between your teeth when his thumbs brush over your nipples, arching your back up into his touch as you feel a familiar tingle start in your pussy.

Daryl stares you in the eyes for a moment, hands coming slowly down your stomach to rest against your hips.

“Scoot up,” he tells you, nudging your hips with his palms.

You edge back until you’re in a half-sitting, half-laying position, your shoulders resting against door behind you. Daryl reaches forward, pushing the poncho up over your torso until he’s exposed your breasts then dips his head to take your nipple into his hot mouth, working it with his teeth and tongue until your head bangs back against the window and you think your spine will snap from the pleasure. He treats the other breast with the same consideration then slowly works his tongue down over your stomach, your heart rate increasing as he pushes your right leg up and hooks it over the back of the bench seat. Your left hand locks around the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip as he works his tongue down to your open pussy and starts a long slow lick from bottom to top. You moan loudly, trying to find a good spot for your other leg as his tongue slides inside you and, with a sideways kick, you manage to wedge your boot against the dash, opening yourself even wider to him.

You’ve seen Daryl devour a meal of freshly cooked game more than once and the same technique he uses to eat that is what he’s now using to eat you. He may not be the most skilled you’ve ever had but what he lacks in finesse he’s sure as hell making up for with enthusiasm, you think as his whiskers scratch across your sensitive flesh and you push your hips up off the seat to meet his mouth. His lips wrap around your clit, sucking it hard between them and your breath catches in your throat as he rubs his tongue across it, groaning deep in his throat, the vibrations shooting across your pussy. You fist your free hand in his still-damp hair, guiding him just a little until his tongue is tickling you in just the right spot and you feel your toes curl involuntarily inside your boots.

“Dar… Dar… Dar…” you pant breathlessly then bite your lip to stifle a scream as you come hard under his touch, sweat slicking the seat beneath you, vaguely aware that he’s pulled off from your pussy to watch your face as you explode. When your eyes finally focus on him properly again, you see he’s grinning broadly, wiping the corners of his mouth with the heel of his hand and you grin back at him then look pointedly down at the impressive bulge that’s stretching the front of his jeans. He takes the hint and quickly unbuttons his pants, wriggling against the seat to get them off until he’s naked before you except for his boots, skin glistening in the hot cab, his cock standing hard and proud making your pussy twitch again at the sight.

“C’mon, Big Boy,” you tell him, with a smile. “Let’s see if you’re as good with that weapon as you are with a bow.”

He snorts but moves to position himself between your thighs, leaning over your body until the heat of his skin is mingling with yours and you feel the coarse hair on his chest brush deliciously over your nipples as he leans in to kiss you. The taste of you is still fresh on his lips and you lick and suck at his mouth until he gives a little animalistic whine in the back of his throat. You feel his hand moving between you, feel the heat of his cock pressed against your entrance and you roll your hips a little, capturing his tip and eliciting another of those whines from him before he thrusts forward and fills you with his length. Your eyes fly open and you break your kiss with a gasp as you squeeze around him, feeling his girth stretching your pussy, your hands clutching at his shoulders as he begins pounding into you.

You nip at his shoulder with your teeth, sucking hard on the soft skin at the base of his throat thinking absently that he tastes of summer heat, the salt of his sweat tangy against your tongue as you drink in the scent of him, his body pressed against yours. He braces his feet against the truck door, one hand gripping the edge of the seat beside you, the other tangled in your hair as he pushes deeper and faster, his grunts growing louder with thrust. The truck is filled with the scent of your bodies, the air thick with the smell of sex and the feel of Daryl buried inside you is making you more than a little light-headed. You tighten your pussy around him, raking the flesh of his back with your nails, feeling his cock twitch inside you.

“B… B… B…” he says, voice straining and then with a sudden exhale, he unleashes into you, “…reezy…”

His body is hard against yours, his cock giving a few last thrusts as he groans above you before letting his body collapse against yours, pinning you to the seat as he buries his face against your neck. You stay like that, bodies stuck together with sweat, breathing the hot air in the cab, until your body starts to protest the position it’s in and you try to wriggle under his weight to get him to move but he just mumbles something unintelligible against your skin and stays put.

“Daryl, you’re crushing me,” you tell him, slapping lightly at his back. With an exasperated grunt, he pushes up off of you, moving back to sit on the seat so you can bring your aching legs back together. You sit, staring quietly at each other, exchanging small smiles until a sound penetrates your euphoric state and you turn your head to glance through the rear window of the cab only to see a lone walker stretching its scrawny arms over the side of the truck trying to hook Daryl’s squirrels from the flat bed.

“Daryl,” you warn in a low voice so as not to attract its attention and he swivels his head to follow your gaze.

“Aw, hell no,” he yells and before you can stop him, he barrels out of the cab, grabbing his knife from his discarded jeans and letting in a blast of fresh air that tickles at your skin. Pulling the walker from the side of the truck, he dispatches it in an instant with a single blow to the head then stands over its crumpled form, giving it a hearty kick for good measure. He looks up to find you watching him, hand stifling a giggle as you take in the sight of him, naked and booted, cock swinging in the breeze, knife hand poised and ready for more trouble.

“What?” he asks.

“My hero,” you reply with a laugh.

“Hey, those were my squirrels, ain’t gonna let one of these filthy bag o’ bones just take ‘em,” he answers indignantly, reaching inside the truck for his jeans as you smile to yourself and rearrange his poncho back down to cover your bare flesh.

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

The ride back to the prison is uneventful and Daryl leaves you in the truck while he goes inside to bring you dry pants which you slip gratefully into. You see a few people eyeing you as you head inside, hiding smirks behind their hands as they catch sight of you in Daryl’s poncho but you don’t care, why would you? You help clean the squirrels and prepare them for dinner then head to your cell to change into a clean shirt, holding Daryl’s poncho against your bare skin for a moment, inhaling the scent of him from it and wondering if he’ll take you hunting the next time he goes. You fold it carefully and go in search of him to return it, finding him outside, tinkering with his bike as always. You watch him quietly for a moment, just out of his sight, hypnotized by the almost gentle way his hands treat the complicated machinery under his touch, understanding that the bike is yet another extension of who he is, as much as the crossbow defines a part of him, so does the bike.

“S’up?” he asks without turning and you start a little, pulled from your musings.

“How did you know I was here?” you ask, coming to stand beside him.

“Smelled ya,” he says, tilting his head as he looks at you, his eyes dropping pointedly down your body and back up. You feel a flush creeping over your skin at that look and your mouth goes suddenly dry.

“Here,” you say, holding out the folded poncho to him, not trusting yourself to say anything more.

He regards it silently for a few seconds then looks you in the eye.

“Nah, why don’t you hold onto that for me?” he tells you as he moves closer to you, leaning in to whisper gruffly in your ear. “Looks better on you anyway.”

 


End file.
